


eyes like marbles

by SpaceguyLewis



Series: Big God [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Busking, Corvo IS Sir Appearing In This Fic!, DUNWALL OR BUST, Domestic, M/M, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Mortal!Outsider, Post-Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, Shopping, Swordfighting, Tailoring, just a touch of it tho ;)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceguyLewis/pseuds/SpaceguyLewis
Summary: “What now, Outsider?”It was as much an inquiry about what he would do with tomorrow as the rest of his mortal life.The Outsider's journey as a mortal from Shindaerey Peak to the Tower of Dunwall, in pursuit of Corvo Attano.





	1. The Secret Life of Daydreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s me, back at it again with D&D-ified Dishonored character builds. I feel like mortal!Outsider would be a bard, because bards Know Shit™️ and get to trash talk their enemies to death. It’s a toss up between Lore and Whispers for the bardic college, but he’s definitely going 18 levels just to steal Wish. last two levels are paladin for Divine Smite. Divine Smite is amazing. Tell me your thoughts in the comments , or @ me on twitter. My handle is @spaceguylewis there too.

The Outsider was silent. He had been silent since Billie had helped him to his feet in the Ritual Hold, leading him like a ghost out of the Void and into the material plane once more. She led him past piles of snoring Eyeless, down the wild slopes of Shindaerey, and into the outskirts of the Batista District. His eyes - beautiful, emerald green and topaz blue, flecked with motes of gold - jumped from one sight to the next, still disbelieving of his surroundings. He stuck close to Billie’s side as they wound through back alleys and over low walls around scraggly gardens, bathed in late afternoon light. When Billie stopped in the nondescript doorway of her safehouse, he stumbled into her back at the sudden stop. She shot him a glance, concerned but pretending she was not, as she unlocked the door and ushered him inside. 

The safehouse was a small, one room apartment with a beat up screen serving as a privacy cover around the toilet and tub. Billie’s bed sat in one corner of the room, sheets tidy, her trunk open at the foot. A table flanked by two chairs in the center held a half empty bottle of wine and a stack of papers on the movements of the Eyeless. The wall opposite the tiny kitchenette was covered in similar papers, notes held up by pins sunk deep into the gypsum board beneath the ugly, peeling wallpaper. Shadows from the neighboring buildings cast strange streaks of dark and light through the grimy window, dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sunbeams.

“This is where we’ll be staying, for now.” She said to the Outsider, who blinked owlishly at her before ducking his head in thanks. Billie began to unstrap her weapons and hung up her coat on one of the decorative, fish shaped hooks as the Outsider shrugged out of his own, unlaced his boots and left them by the door, moving to seat himself in one of the chairs at the table. He watched Billie with his strange, aquatic eyes as she moved around the kitchenette, pulling a paper-wrapped package of cured meat and a small melon from the icebox, and two bottles of pear soda from the pantry. She pulled a knife from a drawer and began dissecting the melon with practiced efficiency, flicking her eyes to the Outsider only once during her work.

“Take off your rings and wash your hands. Who knows what they’ve got on them after four thousand years.” The Outsider’s eyes snapped towards her, a look of utter shock on his features. They stared at one another for a moment, and then pure delight brightened his face as he began to laugh. It was a slow starting thing, a laugh that started in his cheeks. Dimples creased his marble face, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his glittering eyes. His head tilted back, the long column of his throat bared as he laughed, chest jumping gently. Billie watched him with a kind of quiet smile as he did as he was told, smile lingering, pulling off bands of silver set with dark shimmering stones. 

He brushed shoulders with her as he rubbed soap onto his palms and lathered them under the slow trickle of the kitchenette sink. The safehouse was quiet again, the only noise the crunch-thud of the knife cutting up the melon, the susurrus as the Outsider dried his hands on a ratty towel, and the soft tap-drip of the slightly leaky faucet against the metal basin of the sink. Billie carved one half of the melon into pale orange crescents and diced those into small chunks and set them aside on the cutting board. 

“Get the meat out, please.” She murmured to the Outsider, who pushed up his sleeves and undid the package; within was thinly sliced cured pork, coral pink edged with creamy white fat. He peeled the slices apart, setting them on a small dish Billie passed him from the cupboard, and she scraped the melon chunks onto a different plate. Then she collected two cups, motioning for the Outsider to pick up the bottles of soda. They sat at the table, chairs squeaking against the tile floor. Billie wrapped a chunk of melon in a slice of pork, then popped it into her mouth. As she chewed, she twisted the caps off the soda and poured them out into the cups. They fizzed noisily as their pressure was released. The Outsider hesitantly mimicked her, fingers clumsy as they wrapped the meat around melon and slipped the morsel between his lips. As he chewed, Billie could  _ see _ the wonder bloom in his eyes, and soon he was popping another melon chunk into his mouth. They ate together, the Outsider with delighted gusto, Billie with calm enjoyment. He wrinkled his nose at the carbonation of the pear soda, but she could tell he liked it.

Once the melon was gone, Billie leaned back in her chair as she watched the Outsider skim a long, elegant digit along the plate, licking the juice off his fingertip. She absentmindedly played with one of his rings - a heavy thing, with a cabochon of labradorite set into the lightly-tarnished band as she spoke.

“What now, Outsider?”

It was as much an inquiry about what he would do with tomorrow as the rest of his mortal life.

The Outsider breathed in, mind aflux. He thought of graying hair, ends curling ever so gently around the delicate shells of keen ears. He thought of warm brown skin, whelked with scars. He thought of dove gray eyes, looking at him, through him, looking at the core of him, never turning from what they saw. He thought of the welling, rising, ardent thing deep in his soul whenever they came close in their orbits around one another; the misted plume of breath across a cheek at midnight, the barest brush of fingers against one another as a rune was passed from hand to hand, the tangible proximity of their bodies when they stood close together on a snow-dusted rooftop. The interminable adoration he held for Corvo Attano stole all other answers from his tongue.

He breathed out. Absently he noted his face was wet with tears, and he swiped at his cheeks with his sleeve.

“Corvo.” his voice was raw, wrecked with emotion, emotion he hadn’t felt so strongly in four thousand years. “I - I must go to Dunwall. I must see him - !” All at once he rose from his seat, moving towards the door in a lurch, weeping in earnest now. Billie Blinked in front of him, catching him as he tripped over his own boots lying on the doormat. She lowered him to the floor slowly, running her hand over his shaking shoulders. The Outsider keened into her shirt, and she held him as he fell apart. She rocked him slightly from side to side as afternoon slipped into dusk, his tears soaking into her shirt. When the last vestiges of sun slipped from the room, Billie unfolded from the Outsider and helped him stand.

“Get yourself ready for bed. I’ll get you a glass of water.” She said quietly, and the Outsider sucked in a shuddering breath and wiped at his face as he nodded. He slipped behind the privacy screen as Billie rinsed his cup from the sticky traces of pear soda and filled it, placing it on the bedside table. Then she too shrugged out of her shirt, pulling off her boots and socks and sitting on the edge of the bed to wait for the Outsider. 

When he emerged, his high-collared coat was gone, as was his crisp white shirt and socks. A thin, threadbare undershirt covered his chest, bearing milk white arms traced with delicate blue veins and exposing wiry muscle. He had left his pants on, a strange dark splotch on the spectral white of his form.

“I can sleep on the floor, if it would make you more comfortable.” he said, tear swollen eyes carefully fixed on the wall just behind her shoulder. Billie’s mouth quirked at his offer.

“Get over here,” she ordered, patting the comforter beside her. He moved like a shadow to join her, the springs of the mattress barely bending at his weight. “You want to sleep on the inside or the outside?”

“Inside, if you don’t mind.” At the sweep of her hand, he slid across to the wall and slithered underneath the covers, but on top of the bottom most sheet. He watched Billie as she drew the blankets back and settled under them all, arms resting calmly on her chest as she stared up at the ceiling. They stayed like that, side by side, for a long quiet while as dusk slipped into night.

“Why Corvo?” Billie asked at last, and the Outsider was drawn back out of his slow slide into sleep. He breathed in and out, great sighs that reminded Billie of the way dogs sighed sometimes; as if everything in the world weighed upon shoulder that did not deserve to bear the weight, but bore it nonetheless.

“He… he is entwined with the very heart of me. When I was… when I Was,” and Billie could hear the capitalization “His soul, his being, his very existence, it shone. Like the birth of a star, constant and eternal. He had every reason to drown Dunwall in blood, after Daud killed Jessamine, but his hands stayed clean. Even when the bloodless path would have been abhorrent, he found his way. You know Esma Boyle, and how she vanished for weeks after that grand party during the interregnum?”

“That bit of gossip was so big even the whole of Karnaca heard about it.”

“At first the Loyalists planned just to have Corvo assassinate her, but during the party a Sir Brisby approached Corvo. Brisby was obsessed with Esma and tried to convince Corvo to deliver her to him, but Corvo found another way. He gave Esma a knife and told her to pretend she was asleep, that a monster of a man was coming for her but that this was the only way he could keep her alive. Corvo left the party worried sick, worried that he’d delivered her right into the hands of a stalker. But when things had quieted down after Emily was on the throne, Esma came back, and Corvo was  _ relieved _ . They’re good friends now.”

“You like him because he’s good, then.”

“Not just that. There’s something there… something between us, like a string linking our souls together.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the wind whispering through the streets outside.

“You love him.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll get you to Dunwall. It might not be soon, Outsider, but I’ll get you there.”

A pale hand drew itself out of the blankets and searched for Billie’s, and she let the Outsider entwine their fingers.

“Thank you, Billie Lurk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so in retrospect i need to write like four other things for Context™, but those can wait until this particular fic is done. stay tuned, y'all!


	2. I'm Still In Awe of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your wonderful comments, they make my day! because of y'all this has become the longest singular thing i've ever written. 
> 
> Additionally, there's a spotify playlist for Big God! the link is in the series description because i don't know how to HTML, lol

Billie woke to the Outsider’s bony knee jabbing her in the back. She grunted in displeasure, unwinding herself from the bedcovers and sitting up. At some point in the night the Outsider had curled up like a pillbug, one leg sticking out of the little ball he somehow found comfortable. She slid out of bed, leaving the Outsider asleep, and padded behind the privacy screens around the bathtub. The knobs of the tap squealed as she twisted them, and a rush of scalding water flowed out into the basin. Billie adjusted them again, testing the temperature with her fingers until she was satisfied, then moved to open the window so the steam from the bath would escape. Beyond the screen, she heard the Outsider let out a little noise as he shifted, the springs of the bed creaking. Billie moved out to dig through her trunk for a clean set of clothes, bundling them under her arm as she found them. The bed creaked again, and Billie looked up to see the Outsider had sat up, his ink dark hair sticking up on one side. He rubbed at his face as he greeted her, voice cracking from disuse.

“Good morning.” he said around a yawn, covering his open mouth with his hand. Billie shot him a quirk of a smile.

“Good morning. I’m gonna take a bath. You’re next.” He smiled and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“First bath in four thousand years. We’ll see how it goes.” He quipped and Billie laughed, shaking her head as she moved back behind the privacy screen and turned off the taps, slinging her clean clothes over the top of the screen for easy access later.

“There’s not much left in the icebox, Outsider, but you’re welcome to polish off the melon and prosciutto from last night.” Billie called to him as she shucked her clothes and slid into the bath, sighing as the heat sank into her muscles.

“Mm. Is that what it was?” he replied, and paper crinkled in the kitchenette as he opened the package of meat again. “Thank you, Billie.’ She acknowledged his thanks with a little lilting noise, collecting her chunk of sea-sponge and cake of soap from where they balanced on the rim of the tub.

There was a strange silence as Billie bathed and the Outsider ate breakfast. Well, not complete silence, and not the bad kind of strange. Water sloshed in the tub as Billie scoured her feet and legs, dripping from her arms as she shifted in the steaming water. The melon rind crunched as the Outsider cut more chunks from its mass with careful, yet ungainly fingers. Billie opened a tin and rubbed a little product into her hair, scooping a little water onto her head with her hands and working it into her scalp. She carefully cleaned the rest of her body, giving the product time to work its magic. When her skin began to tingle from her meticulous scrubbing, she dunked her head under the bathwater and rinsed the product out. She kept her eye closed tight as she resurfaced in an effort to keep any suds from sneaking in. With a slight flailing hand she reached for her towel and dried her face, then pulled the plug from the drain and stepped out of the bath. She dried herself with practiced efficiency and dressed in the same manner.

Billie stepped out from behind the screen to find the Outsider collecting the dishes from last night and placing them in the sink. A new plate of prosciutto-wrapped melon was set at the place she sat the night before.

“Thank you, Outsider.” she said to him as she tucked in, and he dipped his head at her in acknowledgement before turning back to washing the dishes in the sink.

“Are we doing anything today, Billie?” he asked, still focused on his work.

“If you’re up to a little shopping, yes.” she replied between mouthfuls. “You need more than one set of clothes, so that’s a trip to the tailor. Then we need more food for the both of us, and it’s market day in the Square of the Silver Lion, which is always a treat, so we’ll go there. Additionally, if we’re to get you to Dunwall discreetly, I’ll need to speak to some of my contacts.”

“A busy second day as a mortal,” the Outsider commented as he finished rinsing the last plate and began to dry it. “I look forward to it.” Billie got up from her seat and began rifling through the secret bottom of her trunk for her book of contacts in Karnaca and accumulated collection of coin, bank notes, and ingots of precious metal. She took a heavy pouch of coin and replaced the false bottom, weighing it in her hand. A thought sparked in her mind and she turned back to the Outsider.

“Why do you call yourself mortal?” Billie asked, and he turned to look at her as he dried the last dish, leaning against the counter.

“I may have been human once, Billie, but no longer. My tenure in the Void has changed me irreversibly to something a step removed from human. Few will recognize the change.” Billie nodded, satisfied, and waved him to the tub.

“Alright. Shoo, go wash. I’ll put the dishes back where they belong - thank you for cleaning them, by the way.” The Outsider swept into a dramatic bow, a pleased smile on his lips as he moved behind the screen. Billie set the pouch and book upon the table as she passed it, stacking the plates upon their fellows in the cupboard as the tap squeaked again and the rushing sound of water filled the room. She sat back down at the table and opened up her contact book, flipping through the pages. Line after line of her own cramped handwriting filled the book, along with carefully curated profiles of all her contacts. Billie paused in the Ms, smoothing the book flat on the table at the section detailing Mindy Blanchard.

Mindy, well-connected as she was as underboss of the Howlers, could do more than get the Outsider to Dunwall discreetly. Before Billie could send him off into the cobblestone jungle of Dunwall, she needed to know he’d be safe when he got there. So, she needed Mindy to pass a message along to Duke Armando, who in turn would send the message to Daud.

Daud. Royal Spymaster Daud. Billie laughed softly, just as disbelieving of the thought as she was ten years ago when Daud had accepted the position. She had to admit, however, that he was the most qualified person for the job, other than Corvo Attano himself, and _he_ had his hands full as Royal Protector. She shook herself from her reverie and went back to her book; Mindy operated a tattoo parlor in Batista not too far from the tailor shop she was going to take the Outsider to, so she could pay the Howler a visit while he got prodded and poked with pins. Behind the privacy screen, the water began to drain and she heard the Outsider dressing himself, so she shut her contact book and put it away again. He emerged with his hair slightly damp, dressed once again in his high-collared jacket.

“Ready?” he asked, moving to pull on his boots.

“Always,” Billie replied, joining him on the doormat. She pulled on her coat and opened the door, letting the Outsider step out onto the stoop first. She shut the door and locked it behind her, and when she turned back to the Outsider he gave her a tiny bow and offered her his arm with a little smile and a quirked eyebrow. Billie let out a little huffing laugh as she took his arm, and together they walked down the street.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to lead, as I’ve no clue where we’re going.” he said cheerfully, his eyes brimming with curiosity as they darted all around at the people walking the street.

“We’re going to _Il Cavaliere d’Oro._ The proprietor is not actually a knight, but he’s a master at his craft.” Billie said as she directed the Outsider down the boulevard. He admired the bright fuschia flowers of the crepe myrtles in the median of the street. Together they moved through the Batista District, through the stream of people going to work in the mines or in the shops that studded the cobblestone streets. When they had climbed a hill and arrived at a small intersection at its peak, Billie pointed to a little shopfront at the opposite street corner. A sign hung over the door, shaped like a knight atop a horse rampant and two mannequins posed in the front window. One wore a fine suit dyed the jewel red of pomegranate arils, an elegant top hat on its featureless head; the other was draped in a flowing gown of mint green silk, the bodice studded with shimmering glass beads in a repeating pattern of vines. Painted on the glass of the shopfront windows in shimmering red and gold script were the words:

**_Il Cavaliere d’Oro - Fine Clothing and Alterations - Walk-In Hours 9 o'Clock to 2 o’Clock, or By Appointment_ **

“Here we are,” Billie said, and they crossed the street. “Now, he can be a bit… much, but he’s a friend and I trust him.” Then she pushed open the door, a bell jingling merrily as it swung open, and the Outsider was promptly engrossed in the vast array of suits, gowns, and other outfits on dress-forms and mannequins posed about the shop. A few squashy armchairs were placed strategically around the room, and to the left of the counter a three-paneled mirror drew the eye. A bored looking girl at the counter perked up, flipping the top of her newspaper down.

“Good morning! Welcome to _Il Cavaliere_ , are you here for pick up or to place an order?” She asked, and Billie released the Outsider’s arm to step up to the counter. He fell into place behind her, eyes glittering with delight at the colors and fabrics around him.

“My friend here,” she motioned to the Outsider, “Is to travel to Dunwall soon, and requires a few new outfits. Is _Signore_ Antonio in? Tell him a friend of Meagan Foster needs his expert eye.” At the mention of Billie’s alias, the girl’s eyes widened.

“Oh! Miss Foster! Of course, of course, Antonio always has time for you, I’ll just be a moment.” She slid off her seat behind the counter and vanished into the depths of the shop.

“Miss Foster?” The Outsider said, leaning back around a mannequin clothed in a crushed velvet vest patterned with tiny roses and a crisp silk shirt. His mouth was quirked into a teasing little smile, and Billie stuck her tongue out at him.

“Shut it.” she grumbled, folding her arms, and the Outsider snickered as he turned back to the mannequins. A door banged open somewhere in the depth of the shop, and then a man with an immaculately groomed beard and expertly waxed mustache dressed in vibrant scarlet and gold swept into the front room. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat on his nose, a dressmaker’s tape measure was draped about his neck, and a pincushion was tied around his wrist. His honey-brown eyes fell upon Billie and a grand smile bloomed on his face. He slid over the counter and swept into a low bow.

“Miss Foster! Always a pleasure, my dear, always a pleasure!” he exclaimed, and Billie gave him a little grin.

“Antonio,” she greeted.

“Ah, it is wonderful to see you! But Gwendolyn said your friend needed outfits! For Dunwall, even! What a treat, what a treat. I never get to do cold weather clothing anymore.” He approached the Outsider and pushed his glasses up his nose as he took stock of him. The Outsider subconsciously straightened up under Antonio’s expert eye. “Mm, an excellent figure indeed. Narrow of waist, broad of shoulder, long in the leg. But how rude of me! _Signore_ Antonio Cavaliere, at your service. And just who is Miss Foster’s mysterious friend? ” He offered his hand to the Outsider who took it distractedly, still quite overwhelmed by Antonio’s sheer exuberance.

“Ah, Lord Sheol Rorqualus at your service.” Billie saw the Outsider’s face pinch in chagrin at his own words, but his brow smoothed out once more. Antonio’s brow rose in appraisal, and he looked over at Billie.

“Rubbing shoulders with _lords_ now, Miss Foster? You’re moving up the food chain, my dear! They’ll never survive!”

“Half the lords in court couldn’t hold a candle to Meagan, it’s more as if _I’m_ rubbing shoulders with _her_.” The Outsider quipped, and Antonio chortled in delight.

“Ah, true, true, Lord Rorqualus. But you came here for a wardrobe suiting the climes of Dunwall, and it would be contrary to my very nature to deny you of such.” From somewhere three chairs were produced, but Billie held up a hand and shook her head.

“Ah, my friend, I’m afraid I can’t stay. I have another errand to run, and it’s of a rather time-sensitive nature.” She refused politely, and Antonio gave a theatrical sigh.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Miss Foster. I’ll look after Lord Rorqualus.” Billie patted the Outsider’s shoulder as she passed him to leave the shop. She sent him a last encouraging smile before the doorbell jingled once more, leaving him alone in the shop-front with Antonio, who sat in one of the chairs backwards with his arms braced on the back.

“Please, Lord Rorqualus, have a seat.” The Outsider gathered all his experience in acting taciturn and enigmatic and sat in the chair, ankle propped upon his knee and hands carefully folded in his lap. “Now, a few questions, if I may?” The Outsider nodded once.

“Thank you. First, have you been to Dunwall before?”

“Yes, but it was a long time ago.”

“I see. How many sets of clothing were you expecting to purchase? What kinds? Any particular needs in terms of style or aesthetic?”

“I believe it would be wise of me to buy four of everyday wear, one of formalwear, and a coat that would match both. The everyday wear should be ornate enough to serve as courtly wear in a pinch, but plain enough for me to pass as a common man. As for aesthetics…” A smile crossed his mouth, as if he thought of the grand drapes and shrouds of intricate brocade draped over his shrines. “It would please me if the formalwear were in shades of royal purple or sapphire blue, with accents of gold.” Antonio smiled as well, ideas sparking in his eyes as he scribbled things down in his notepad.

“Excellent, most excellent.” He stuck his pen behind his ear, then moved back around the counter to dig around in the shelves beneath it. The tailor produced a thick book with many place markers and notes poking out of the pages, which he cracked open and turned so the Outsider could see its contents right side up.

“Look through these and tell me if any catch your fancy.”

Within were several styles of vests, pants, and shirts, rendered both flat and upon a figure. The Outsider took the book and turned the pages carefully, impressed at the careful detail of the garments within. He paused at an outfit consisting of a collared shirt that buttoned from the throat to the middle of the ribcage with loose sleeves ending in simple cuffs, an angular vest with several hidden pockets, and a pair of form-fitting trousers with piping on the outer leg seams.

“This one, I think,” the Outsider said and tapped it twice with his index finger. “And this one as well.” He indicated a figure dressed in a modest button up tucked into a pair of sturdy trousers with deep pockets, held up by suspenders.

“Excellent choices, most excellent,” Antonio said, pen back in his hand as he furiously scribbled out notes in atrocious chicken scratch handwriting. “You mentioned a jacket or coat as well? Any preferences?”

“Something similar to this one would be best.” He undid the buckles of his jacket and shrugged out of it, passing the garment to Antonio for inspection.

“My my, this is positively exquisite craftsmanship! The stitching, nigh invisible! So expertly lined! Tell me, who made it?” A slight sheen of sweat broke out on the Outsider’s forehead - he very well could not tell Antonio it was shaped from the fabric of the Void itself.

“Ah, I - I’m afraid you wouldn’t know them, they’re - ” And here the Outsider betrayed himself, the most damning of words slipping off his tarnished silver tongue. “ - Pandyssian.” Antonio’s glasses slid back down the bridge of his nose and his eyebrows threatened to secede into his hairline.

“ _Pandyssian?_ ” he inquired with a whisper, and his client decided to lie in the awful, terrible bed he’d made for himself, leaning forward as if in confidence.

“Indeed. You see, I’m no lord of Tyvia or Morley, _Signore_ Cavaliere.” The tailor sat up a little straighter, a look of soft amazement on his face as he pushed his glasses back into place.

“Outsider’s eyes. A noble of Pandyssia, in my own shop. Normally I’d peg you as completely deranged, but going by your accent and rather otherworldly eyes, there’s little else you _could_ be.” He winked, amber eyes sparkling, and the Outsider felt an involuntary heat creep up his ears. “Well, Lord Rorqualus, I swear to you I will craft garments of the finest quality available in the Isles.” He returned the Outsider’s jacket and jotted more notes down on the paper, after which he took his book of sketches back from the Outsider and set it back down on the counter.

"Now! I will need you to do me a favor and stand up; no clothes can be made without the proper measurements." The Outsider obeyed, setting his jacket down on his chair before drawing his shoulders back and straightening his spine. Antonio whipped the dressmaker's tape measure from around his neck and set to work, rapidly tracing the breadth of the Outsider's shoulders and circumference of his waist. He mumbled the measurements under his breath as he worked, jumping from arm to leg to torso and back again like a particularly fashion forward rabbit.

"Just the wrists now, and then I'll have everything - " The bell above the door chimed merrily, interrupting Antonio. Billie had returned, a pleased smile on her face. “Miss Foster! Perfect timing. Lord Rorqualus and I just finished up.” Billie walked up and patted the Outsider’s shoulder softly, a brush of fingers against his shirt.

“Still in one piece, I see.” She heckled, good-natured, and he swatted her hand away playfully. “Thank you for your work, Antonio. How much do I owe you?”

“Just my standard fee, Miss Foster. Here, I’ll ring you up.” He draped the measuring tape around his neck again and slid back behind the counter, making quick calculations on his notepad as he filled out an invoice slip. Once the Outsider had finished putting his jacket back on, Billie had slid several bank notes across the counter to Antonio.

“You can expect to pick up the first two outfits on the 19th, and the next two by the 23rd.” The tailor said, passing a copy of the invoice to Billie. “The formalwear will require a bit more time, but it should be complete by the 4th of the Month of Clans.”

“Thank you, _Signore_ Cavaliere.” The Outsider said, giving the man a little bow of his head in respect, who waved it off in good humor. He walked the Outsider and Billie to the door, holding it open for them.

“No, no, Lord Rorqualus, thank _you_.” He replied, smile crinkling his cheeks and creasing the crow’s feet at his eyes. “And it was so good to see you, Miss Foster! Do stop by again.” Billie and the Outsider walked back down the hill, arms linked once more.

“So I may have panicked and told him I was a Pandyssian noble,” he said genially, eyes fixed on the place where the rooftops met the sky. Billie tried to smother her laughter, failed, and let a great cackle of delight escape.

“It’s as good a cover story as any!” She said, delighting in the lightly vexed expression on his face. “And what a fable it is, it could almost be an opera; a Pandyssian noble, his eye caught by the Royal Protector so long ago, when his fortunes were low. Now the tables have turned and it is _you_ who must turn to him for assistance.”

“Oh, you’re terrible.” he teased, his embarrassment melting away in face of her good humor. “There is a grain of truth at the center of that tale, however - I was Pandyssian, but as you know I was the farthest thing from a lord.”

“Hm, truly? Well, if it is part of the truth, it will come instinctually should people ask you about it.” The rush of people grew thicker, and around the bend of the street came the chatter and hubbub of a busy marketplace. “We’re almost to the square anyhow.” They wove through the crowd and emerged into a great, open-air plaza.

It was paved in a mosaic of colored granite which formed a great, angular sunburst of some kind when viewed from above. In the center of the sunburst, a three tiered dias bore a large marble fountain crowned in a silver lion prancing on its hind paws, mouth agape as water flowed from its jaws. The water splashed down into a series of three wide bowls and into a basin, the bottom of which glimmered with one-piece coins. All around the edge of the square market stalls had been set up, and all manner of goods could be bought. There was a butcher, a fishmonger, a baker, a grocer, a pharmacist, and many others besides. Between the stalls the people of the Batista district flowed, haggling and trading and chattering with one another.

“It’s a great well of life,” the Outsider whispered to himself. Once they had reached a little eddy of stillness in the crowd by the base of a lamppost, Billie stopped and turned to the Outsider.

“If you like you can wander for a little while,” She told him, reaching for her belt and unclipping a few canvas shopping bags, one of which she passed to him.

“I’m fine sticking with you,” he replied, and she reached up to ruffle his hair. He made a little strangled sound and ducked to escape her hair-mussing fingers, sticking his tongue out at the mischief on Billie’s face. “Ach, enough, enough! What’s our first stop?”

“Baker’s stand. You haven’t had bread yet.”

“I suppose not. To the baker’s stand it is!” They stepped back into the flow of the crowd, taking a strange roundabout way to the market stall stacked high with crusty baguettes, flour-dusted Saggunto flatbread, corn tortillas, potato rolls, and a hundred other baked goods besides. A dusky skinned woman sat on a high stool behind the ‘counter’ of the stall, her thick forearms folded across her chest. She smiled when she saw Billie approach.

“Meagan! Lovely to see you again, dear. Who’s your friend?” she greeted, and the Outsider waved hello from over Billie’s shoulder.

“A terrible creature who eats all my fruit.” Billie deadpanned, a teasing smile on her face as she gently elbowed the Outsider, who stuck his tongue out at her again. “No, Maria, this is Sheol. He needed a place to crash on his way to Dunwall, so he’s going to be carrying my groceries.” Maria smiled and nodded.

“I see. Anyways, can I interest you in some bread, Meagan? Miss Carter just dropped off some new loaves, fresh from the oven.” She waved to a stack of baguettes in brown paper bags.

“Yes please, Maria. I’ll take two loaves, along with some of your potato rolls.” Bread and coin changed hands; the bread was passed to the Outsider, who took a hearty whiff of the crust before stowing it away in the canvas bag Billie had passed him earlier. He and Billie waved goodbye to Maria as they melted back into the crowd, their trajectory taking them now to the grocer. A pattern emerged; the proprietor of the stand would greet Billie, ask about the Outsider, Billie would give them a vague explanation as she made her purchases, and the goods would then be passed to the Outsider for him to carry. At a peddler of scarves and hats and other accouterment of similar make, Billie purchased a navy blue newsboy’s cap and set it upon the Outsider’s head. She considered the sight for a moment and nodded, apparently satisfied, and paid for it.

“So you don’t sear the nose off your lily-white face, Outsider.” she explained when he asked, and he thanked her. Next they made their way to the fishmonger, and Billie began haggling with the grizzled old man over a pair of eels. As prices were volleyed back and forth to his left, the Outsider cast his gaze about his right. His eyes skimmed over a small cart laden with secondhand bits and baubles, drifted off to the next stall, then snapped back to the menagerie for a closer look.

Hanging from a ratty strap hooked over a nail was a weathered old guitar, and all at once the Outsider’s vision went gray and gold and teal.

_Corvo sat on the balcony of Emily’s room in Dunwall tower in a straight backed chair, a guitar cradled in his lap. He picked at the strings carefully, twisting the knobs on the head to tune it. The Outsider was floating in the air a short distance away, looking as if he were a cat draped upon the back of an invisible couch._

_“Before I Was,” the Outsider said, watching Corvo’s clever fingers as they slid over the strings of the instrument. “I knew how to play. It kept me fed, busking on corners and in taverns, until a rival troubadour beat me bloody and broke my guitar to splinters.”_

_“Do you still know how?” Corvo asked, not glancing up from his careful work._

_“If I ever felt the desire to pick it up again, I’m sure I could, dearest Corvo.” At this Corvo did look at him, and there was… something unreadable in his face. It was utterly vexing - but Corvo looked back down at his work, and the moment was lost._

_“If you find the inclination in my lifetime, Outsider,” he said quietly, “I would be honored to hear you play.”_

The Square of the Silver Lion rushed back in like a tidal wave, washing the memory from the Outsider’s vision. Billie had gotten her eels, but her hands cupped the Outsider’s face, her brow furrowed in concern.

“ - what’s wrong? Your eye, it was - ” she was saying, but he interrupted her.

“It was a memory of when I Was. Nothing dangerous, Billie, I swear.” His eyes drifted back to the guitar, and Billie followed the Outsider’s gaze to the secondhand stall. She saw a peculiar look on his face; a look of longing under a veneer of melancholy.

“Come on, let’s sit down,” she said and guided him to sit on the wide rim of the fountain’s basin. He set their shopping down around their feet, pulling an orange out and passing it to the Outsider.

“You’re probably low on sugars, eat.” She ordered, and he mechanically began to peel the fruit. A little pile of rind stacked up next to his thigh as he slipped the wedges into his mouth, eyes still fixed on the guitar as he chewed. Once he finished the orange, Billie let out a little sigh and reached for her coin purse, feeling indulgent as she pulled out a handful of five- and ten-pieces, which she pressed into his hand. He looked from the coins to her face, a little disbelieving.

“If you can haggle the shopkeep down to this much, you can buy it,” She confirmed. A slow, creeping smile lit the Outsider’s face, one of pleased gratitude. He dipped his head in a little bow and stood up.

“Thank you, Billie. I promise I won’t be long.” He jogged off into the crowd, weaving his way to the stall. Billie spent the next ten minutes watching the ebb and flow of the crowd, smiling to herself as she watched a tiny girl filch coins from unguarded pockets by the knife-sharpener’s stand. All at once a twinge in her right eye made her look up to the sky, catching a glimpse of a midnight feathered bird as it soared from beyond the rooftops and alighted upon one of the higher tiers of the fountain behind her. Just a crow, Billie thought at first, twisting to get a better look. No, it was _much_ too large to be a crow.

It was a raven, and with her right eye she could see that powerful magic poured off of it in thick, billowing sloshes, like fog rolling over a mountain range. It did not seem to notice her, entranced by whatever coins had been thrown into the bowl it perched upon. Something jittered above its sleek head, and Billie focused hard with her eye, giving it the barest smidge of power to look beyond and into the Void. The jittering thing calmed, revealing itself to be a simple little crown; five spines of silver-blue metal, joined together with twisting sprigs of hydrangea. It's fine-feathered head bobbed as it drank from the fountain, bright eyes glittering in the morning sun. Billie watched it for a while longer, but it seemed not to notice her in the slightest, now hopping around the bowl of the fountain, trying to extract some shimmery trinket from within its depths.

Satisfied with its banality, she turned back to the market stalls, pulling a plantain from one of the bags and peeling off the tough outer skin. As she chewed the sweet flesh thoughtfully, the Outsider emerged from the crowd with the guitar slung over his shoulder, a glowing smile on his face.  
  
"Thank you, Billie," he gushed as he drew even with her and fished in his pocket for her change, mostly one-pieces with a few five-pieces mixed in, which he then passed to her. "It’s even tuned - surprising, considering the shopkeep said it had been sitting in an attic untouched for months. I’m going to go try something, I’ll just be a little while."

He circled the base of the fountain about a quarterways until he arrived at a place free from other resting shoppers, parting a grounded flock of pigeons like the prow of a ship. He removed his cap and placed it a few feet in front of him on the ground, then strummed a few chords on the instrument, fingers dancing across the frets. A few faces turned towards the Outsider curiously as he played, and even from the awkward angle she could see him smothering a pleased smile. And then, to Billie's immense surprise, he began to _sing_.

_“We're on the permanent red_

_The glaze on my eyes_

_When I heard your voice_

_The distance caught me by surprise again_

_And I know you claim that you're alright_

_But fix your eyes on me_

_I guess I'm all you have_

_And I swear you'll see the dawn again._

_Well I know I had it all on the line_

_But don't just sit with folded hands and become blind._

_'Cause even when there is no star in sight_

_You'll always be my only guiding light.”_

It was clearly meant for someone who wasn’t present. No, this song was for a man an ocean away, but the market goers heard the emotion in the Outsider’s voice, and it entranced them. As he sang, Billie watched as the little pickpocket girl scuttled forward, eyes bright and awed as she placed a five-piece coin in the Outsider’s hat, and vanished back into the crowd. Soon more and more coins clinked against one another in the bottom of the hat as the Outsider sang, offering appreciative smiles and nods of his head to those who darted in and out of the crowd like minnows. When he strummed the last chord of his song, the gathered crowd burst into delighted applause. The Outsider bowed at the waist, hand flourishing. He adjusted his instrument so it was slung over his back and collected his coin-heavy hat, winding back around the fountain to meet up with Billie again.

“Impressive,” She congratulated, nodding to his hat. “I didn’t know you could play.”

“I haven’t touched an instrument in about four thousand years, so that went much better than expected.” He replied, and held out his hat to her. “Here - for the tailor’s bill. I know it won’t cover everything, but I can keep playing elsewhere to earn more.”

“Thank you, Outsider.” Billie said, touched. She pulled an empty coin purse from her belt and transferred the coins to it, then passed the Outsider’s hat back to him. “Come on, let’s get back to the safehouse.” He helped her collect the shopping and they wound their way back to the entrance of the square. As they drew even with Maria’s bakery stand, she waved at them as they passed. The Outsider waved back, and something dropped from the sky into his open hand. He startled, fingers clenching around cool stone and wire.

“What in the Void…?” he wondered, turning the thing over for closer inspection.

It was a river stone, dark gray with a vein of quartz running through it. A hole had been bored through the middle by water, but a web of copper wire bordered the outer edge. Around the hole, a strange symbol had been scratched into the stone and filled with silver: an angular winged figure, its split tail trailing down under the hole.

“Billie, this just fell into my hand out of - Billie?” Billie wasn’t looking at him. She was staring intently at an enormous raven perched on the wooden roof of Maria’s stall, the fingers of her Void-touched hand clenched tight. The raven cawed, ruffled its feathers, and flew off over the rooftops, leaving Billie and the Outsider vaguely unsettled.

“... what _was_ that?” He asked quietly as they continued on, back up the boulevard to the safehouse. Billie shook her head, eyes ever watchful as she looked up and down the street.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was nothing.” She said at last.

They both knew it wasn’t nothing.

It never was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i said Corvo was Sir Not Appearing in this Fic but i lied a little bit.


	3. Lovely as the Song in the Air as the Wind Blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this got really long and i needed to cut it in half for my own sanity, so you'll get outsider-on-a-boat next time, sorry everyone! also i went back and realized part of the clothes shop scene in chapter 2 never got copied over for some reason so i went back and fixed it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

On the morning of the 21st of the Month of Timber, Billie and the Outsider sat at the table in the safehouse eating a breakfast of poached eggs and bacon on thick toast. Billie, having perfected her morning routine over the course of years, looked impeccably tidy; her hair was combed, coat carefully pressed, and she ate her eggs with careful finesse.

The Outsider was not so put together.

His ink dark hair was still mussed on one side from sleep, the collar of his nightshirt undone and slipping off one shoulder. A slight shadow of stubble darkened his chin and cheeks, and a dab of golden egg yolk was smeared across his upper lip.

“Billie,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of bread and egg, and Billie hummed in acknowledgement. “Would you be willing to teach me how to use a sword?” Now Billie looked up. The Outsider’s face was painfully earnest, and she let out a long breath as she leaned back in her chair.

“Why do you want to learn?” She asked at length, and he gave her a tiny, genuine smile.

“I want to learn so I can protect myself. So I can protect those close to me.” His voice was so earnest it almost hurt. “I know you might have… issues, with teaching that sort of thing, so if you say no I won't push the subje - ”

“I’ll teach you.” She interjected. “It’ll be a lot of work, and I won’t go easy on you, but I’ll teach you.” Billie then had the immense treat of seeing the Outsider’s face bloom with a elated grin, benthic eyes sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the window.

“Thank you, Billie.” He grew pensive for a moment. “I know I’ve said it before, but with… _everything_ that’s happened in the last month, with the Void, and Delilah, and Jessamine - you didn’t have to do any of that. You could have left me to die, but you didn’t. So thank you. For everything.” Billie swallowed around a lump in her throat and took a sip of her tea, avoiding the Outsider’s gaze as she nodded in acknowledgement.

“I’ll have to find some actual swords for us to train with,” Billie diverted once she had set her cup back down. “I very well can’t teach you with the Twin-Bladed Knife.” The Outsider snorted around a bite of egg.

“ _Please_ don’t train me with the Twin-Bladed Knife, that’d be terrible for everyone involved.”

They fell back into comfortable silence and finished their breakfast, falling into the familiar dance around the apartment that had developed over the week since the Outsider’s divine exeunt. The dirty dishes from breakfast were stacked up in the sink for the Outsider to wash as Billie took her bath. When she finished her bath, she emerged to dry and put them away as the Outsider bathed in turn. His ablutions took a little longer than hers; he found the appearance and texture of stubble displeasing on his face, and had obtained a straight razor somewhere to carefully shave it off. Once the Outsider emerged from behind the privacy screen dressed in a brocaded vest, tight black pants, and a loose white shirt he had ordered from Antonio, he collected his guitar and stuffed his feet into his boots. He waved goodbye to Billie and went out the door, off to play music in Cyria Gardens.

Billie sat at the kitchen table for a good fifteen minutes, staring at the wall. All at once she rose, chair squeaking against the floor as she moved to the Outsider’s little trunk of belongings. She rifled through it until her fingers met cool stone and twisted wire. When she pulled back, the stone the raven had dropped into the Outsider’s palm was clutched in her hand. It sang like a bonecharm, but nowhere near as discordant; no, the stone sang clear, like an ocean breeze on a summer day, singing a song of the healing and protection of one’s vocal chords and throat. The symbol on it - the strange, jagged and angular figure that could almost be a counterpart to the Outsider’s Mark - shimmered with magic, the silver dust imbedded in the grooves nearly iridescent with it. Billie brushed her thumb over the hole near the top of the symbol, and a familiar staticky sensation prickled along her fingertip. Surprised, she drew back, and held the hole up so she could look through it with the Sliver of the Eye.

Instead of the open trunk and wall, she saw an island floating through the Void, soft green moss blanketing cream colored rock. A great whale swam in lazy circles around it, and upon the island a hauntingly familiar pavilion sat. Its copper roof and marble columns were unusually pristine for a structure appearing in the void.

A winged figure, plumage dark and vibrant as the midnight sky crouched in the pavilion, brushing a taloned hand against the stone floor. With the gaze of the Eye, Billie could see the figure’s brow was laid in the same silver and hydrangea crown the raven had jittering above its head, and magic suffused every ink-blue feather on their body. It reminded her of the strange aura that used to follow the Outsider around in the way it almost bent the space around them with its potential.

 _“I… I know this place, but I have no memory of being here before.”_ He said as the whale passed by him, voice a warm and pleasant rasp.

 _“The Void recreates places from the memories of those who walk it. Perhaps, in your Before, this place was important to you.”_ The whale replied, its voice seemingly amplified as if in a great cathedral.

_“There’s so much I don’t know about the Void, Shadow-of-the-Moon, about myself, about the material plane. I feel… ill equipped.”_

_“When your predecessor first arrived in the Void, he too knew nothing. Before he vanished, he could have unmade and remade the world with barely a thought. Everything takes time, Ravenking. You will be fine.”_

All at once the Eye twinged in pain, and Billie drew back from the hole, palm pressed over the right side of her face. The stone sat innocently in her palm, singing away to itself. She suddenly became aware of a cold sweat springing into existence on her spine, and she shivered. Billie tucked the stone back into the Outsider’s trunk and stood up. She pulled a sheaf of paper and a pen from her own trunk, checked that the well still held ink, and began to write.

_Daud,_

_It’s me again. I don’t know if you read my other letter, but in case you didn’t the long and short of it is that the Outsider isn’t a god anymore and he’s traveling to Dunwall soon, perhaps in the next month or so, with the intent of having a long conversation with Lord Attano. But this is an update on the Void situation: there’s someone new in the house._

_Ask around your more arcane sources about the Ravenking. It might be a bit early, considering it’s only been a week since the Outsider and I came down from Shindaerey Peak, but I doubt it would hurt._

 

  * __B__



 

Billie set down her pen. She pulled on her boots while she waited for the ink to dry, then folded her letter up and stuffed it into an envelope. After tucking the letter into the inside pocket of her coat and moved towards the window, she slid it open and balanced herself on the sill, peering around for any onlookers before Displacing up to the roof of the neighboring building. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, she slowly but surely made her way to the Dockyards. Soon the smell of fish and salt air filled her nose, and she wound her way down to street level once again. She kept to the shadows, darting from alleyway to alleyway before she stopped in front of a wrought iron gate. Just beyond, a Howler leaned against the graffitied wall, smoking a cigar. Billie drew her shoulders back and straightened her spine.

“I need to talk to Mindy Blanchard.” The Howler took a drag of their cigar, held the breath, then let it out again, blue-gray smoke pooling around their head.

“And who’re you?” They grunted, shaking the ash from their cigar. Billie resisted the urge to sigh impatiently.

“She’ll know me as Billie Lurk.” The Howler’s visible eye gleamed in recognition.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” They unlocked the gate and waved her through, shutting it tight again once Billie was on the other side. “She’s down in the taproom.” Billie nodded at them in acknowledgement and kept going, following a grimy staircase downwards into a tunnel lit only by candlelight.

Rats scurried around her boots as she walked, and the air in the tunnel was cold and unpleasantly humid. About twenty paces into the tunnel, the sounds typical to a bar room began to reach her; chatter and music and the occasional shout of displeasure from a drink being spilled. The sounds became louder and louder, and then Billie rounded a corner and stopped in front of a door set into the bricked-up end of the tunnel. A view hole in the door slid open, revealing a pair of watery eyes.

“Whass yer bis’niss?” the owner of the eyes slurred, and Billie sighed.

“Billie Lurk here to talk to Mindy Blanchard.” The view hole shut, and there was the clicking of numerous locks and deadbolts being undone before the door swung open. Billie walked inside and looked out from the landing she stood on.

Below was a tap room built into a sea cave, lit by chandeliers festooned with hundreds of candles. A natural channel carved its way through the center of the cave, filled with seawater that rushed and receded under two wooden bridges that spanned the gap. Tables were crowded with Howlers and black market dealers of every ilk, drinking and arguing and carousing. Perched on a rickety stool at the bartop itself was a woman with a familiar head of blonde hair and intricate tattoos trailing across almost every visible inch of flesh.

Mindy Blanchard herself.

Billie descended the hewn stairs and wove her way through the crowd, then slid into an empty chair to Mindy’s left. Mindy tipped her shot glass at Billie in greeting, downed the amber liquid in it, then set the glass back down with practiced force.

“Billie Lurk. Back again so soon?” She probed, and Billie waved at the bartender to serve Mindy another shot.

“I am. I’ve another message for you, if you wouldn’t mind.” She produced the letter and slid it to Mindy across the bar, who picked it up and tucked it into her vest for safekeeping.

“Of course. First one hasn’t actually gone out yet, so this one’ll be included in the package.”

“Thank you, Mindy. Any news about the boat ride to Dunwall?”

“Yeah, actually. I was gonna send someone to you about it, but since you’re here…” A thin envelope was produced and passed to Billie, who opened it and took out the sheets of paper within. They detailed the exploits of an old fishing boat, the _Justice Strike_. Owned and captained by a retired general of the Dunwall navy from Empress Jessamine’s day, it sailed the waters around Serkonos in pursuit of herring, which it then gibbed and sold to various fishmongers in Dunwall and Karnaca. A few pages detailed the blueprints of the ship, which contained several small, hidden quarters tucked away in places where from the outside, a member of the Grand Guard would miss them entirely.

“A smuggling ship?” Billie asked Mindy, who laughed into her glass.

“Not in the slightest. General Balshera does fish for herring, but she also ferries secret passengers between Dunwall and Karnaca. They gotta work aboard the ship for their passage, but she’s known to be a fair and just woman.” Billie considered the information packet once again, then slid it back to Mindy.

“She’ll do. Thank you for your help, Mindy. You need a favor, just let me know.” Mindy raised her shot glass to her in acknowledgement, then pounded it back as Billie left a few coins on the bartop.

“Actually, Lurk, I got a question.” Billie turned back to face Mindy, Brow raised in question. “Something weird is goin’ on with bonecharms. They’re cracking, turning to dust, every one of them, and when those with the skill try to carve new ones, nothing happens. They’re just… bone. No touch of the Void to be had. You know anything, hear any rumors?” Billie considered her answer carefully. The idea of the Outsider leaving the Void was… esoteric at best for those who had never walked within the realm itself. Still, Mindy had done her favor. She deserved something in return.

“All I’ve heard is a whisper of a rumor; the Leviathan has traded his tail for a pair of legs.” Billie began. “And a human has undertaken the mantle of the Raven.” Then she faded back into the crowd of the underground bar.

When Billie returned to the safehouse in the late afternoon, a long package tucked under one arm, the Outsider had returned. He was sitting at the table, a cup of tea at his left hand and a notebook in front of him. His earnings for the day were stacked in neat little piles in front of the notebook, and he seemed to be doing his bookkeeping.

“Hello, Billie,” He greeted as she undid coat her coat and hung it up, not looking up from his writing. “How was Mindy?”

This took Billie by surprise; he had no way of knowing where she had headed that morning. But the Outsider had ways of knowing things he shouldn’t, and who was she to say he couldn’t keep those things as a mortal?

“She was well. You’ve got a ride to Dunwall on the 10th of Songs via boat.” His head snapped up, a delighted smile blooming on his face. Then it flagged slightly, and his brow creased.

“I… I know you are not nearly so callous, Billie, but I feel I should ask just in case - it is not a whaling ship, is it?”

“No no, I’d never send you off on one of those,” She reassured him, placing the thin package on the empty end of the table before sliding into the chair opposite him. “It’s a herring-buss called the _Justice Strike._ ” A look of recognition flashed across the Outsider’s face.

“I know it! General Lizabete Balshera. An absolute hurricane of a woman, and an honest one too. I would be glad to serve under her for the journey.” He smiled again, soft and grateful. “Thank you again, Billie.” Billie said nothing, but she patted the Outsider’s hand in acknowledgment.

“In other news, I found some swords to train you with.” She undid the strings around the package and unraveled the paper, revealing two blades nestled in their depths. They were both about three feet long and rather thin, almost like a sabre but not curved. Their cross guards were narrow, angling up and away from the hilts. The pommels were diamond-shaped, perfect for knocking someone over the head with. The Outsider set his pen down and leaned over to look at them better, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Would you be willing to show me a thing or two now?” he asked, practically vibrating in his seat. Billie looked out the window at the angle of the shadows - it was late, but being close to midsummer the light wouldn’t be gone for a few more hours yet.

“Alright. Get your boots on, then.” She bundled the swords back up and waited by the door for him.

“Are we going out and about again?” He asked as they exited the safehouse.

“Not quite.” Billie led him around the back of the building to a rickety metal staircase that wound its way up to the roof. Her boots thumped against the grating as she moved up the first flight, paused at the landing, and leapt high. She grabbed the railing of the landing above with practiced accuracy, hauling herself up and perching lightly on the corner.

“Ah, out and _up_ it is. I’m afraid I don’t have the upper body strength for such acrobatics as that, quite yet.” The Outsider shot Billie a smile and circled the base of the stairs to climb them in the mundane way.

“Ah, it’ll build it up in time.” She reassured, leading the way up the stairs.

Once they reached the topmost landing, Billie stepped out onto the roof. It was covered in a layer of pale gravel to drain away rain and reflect heat; woven between chimneys and pipes that studded the gravel like strange trees were laundry lines strung with sheets and shirts. She led him to a clear space, about ten paces wide and twenty paces long, on the side of the roof that afforded them a lovely view of Karnaca Bay. Billie stopped about five paces away from the Outsider, setting the swords down on a cooling vent before turning to face him.

“To begin with,” She said. “Do you have any knowledge about sword fighting to begin with?”

“Only in the academic sense, I suppose.” The Outsider said, clasping his arms behind his back. “I’ve watched Daud and Corvo train and fight, of course, but there were many other notable duelists that caught my attention once or twice, if only for a short while.”

“Right then, we’ll start with what you know of Daud. First position!” She called, dropping into a stance, which the Outsider mirrored.

They ran through all the stances Billie could recall, until the Outsider could shift almost effortlessly between them and the sun was dipping low enough to touch the sea. It was good exercise, and the both of them were sweating in the Serkonan heat.

“We’ll stop for now,” Billie said, gathering up the swords again. “I’ll run you through the stances again tomorrow just as a refresher, then I’ll show you how to hold a sword so you don’t take your own eye out.” The Outsider beamed at her, face sweaty with exertion.

“Marvelous. Now, I don’t know about you, Billie, but I’m starved.” He led the way back down to the safehouse. They prepared a dinner of barbecued eels, which they wolfed down with gusto. After cleaning up the dishes, they bathed and changed clothes, then slid into bed. The Outsider quickly pulled his limbs close to his body, curling up facing the wall. He was on the verge of sleep when Billie spoke.

“Outsider,” She whispered, as if she wasn’t really expecting a response. “Could another avatar of the Void be made?” He hummed affirmation without opening his eyes or rolling over to face her.

“Of course. The Eye of the Dead God at Shindaerey Peak makes it an ideal place for such a ritual, but there is one other location that I know of that could birth another.” He shivered a little in spite of the warm night and the heat of Billie’s body at his back. “The only name the whales ever gave it was the Maw. Deep beneath the sea, at the bottom of a benthic trench, the Void blends with the World. Imagine, if you will, a figure eight. One loop is the Void, and the other is the World. The midpoint, where they meet, is the Maw. If a ritual was devised to sacrifice a person with sufficient perception of the Void to the Maw, I suppose they could become a new avatar - but with the ability to control, to interact, to i _nterfere_ , with the World just as I did with the Void.” His hands tightened into fists. “But it’s been only a week and half since you brought me out. I doubt anyone has noticed my absence, nor will they notice for a while.”

“... okay. Good night, Outsider.”

“Good night, Billie.” He listened as Billie’s breath evened out and she slipped into her dreams, but for some blasted reason he could not follow her. He stared unseeing at the shadows on the wall, feeling the minutes tick by into hours.

And then he was standing in the Void.

He stood at the base of a great, twisting tree, its leafy boughs festooned with blue flowers. The tree seemed to sit within a circular structure of white stone, about fifty paces in diameter with regal arches offering a view out into the glacier blue expanse of the Void. He made to take a step forward and explore, but jumped when his footstep crackled like he was walking on eggshells. He startled, looking down at his feet and saw that he was standing on thousands upon thousands of midnight blue feathers, which crunched under his weight. The feathers carpeted the ground, so many they were almost an inch deep. The Outsider snapped his head around, looking something, anything, to explain his presence here.

“ _You.”_ A garbled, husky voice spat, and the Outsider spun around. A woman, formed of part flesh, part rotting rose vine, and part rough-hewn statue stood behind him. The angles of her face and rage in her eyes were intimately familiar.

Delilah Copperspoon.

“Delilah,” The Outsider greeted warily, and she bared her rose-thorn fangs at him.

“You escaped, and now something _else_ sits in my throne,” She hissed at him. “I came here to try and kill it, like I tried to kill you, but the Shadow wouldn’t let me.”

“Do you mean there’s another?” The Outsider questioned, and Delilah howled in rage.

“Of course there’s another! You put him there!” She accused. Something in the Outsider snapped at this accusation. He drew himself up, throwing back his shoulders, and stalked towards Delilah.

 _“_ How **_dare_ ** you. You think I _wanted_ to become the Void’s avatar? I wouldn’t wish it on anyone - thousands of years, alone, screaming in the dark, grasping at whatever threads you can to escape the confines of your own soul? _How dare you._ ” He got right up into Delilah’s face, close enough to smell the rot that poured off her. “I know jack shit about gardening, but you’re a pest and half!”

As the Outsider rebuked her, to Delilah’s immense shock, white gold fire erupted on her form, devouring stone and vine and flesh alike. She screamed and stumbled backwards, kicking up clouds of feathers with every convulsive step. The Outsider drew back, astounded, as she threw herself to the ground and rolled about to put out the flames. The smell of burning plants and singed feathers filled the air, a sour perfume that made him hold back a retch of disgust.

All at once, a shiver raced up his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Delilah stilled, claws skittering through the feathers, red eyes darting about. He felt like a bug pinned under a microscope.

“He noticed that,” She mumbled under her breath, then wobbled to her feet, shedding flakes of still-glowing ash.

“Who noticed what?” The Outsider demanded, following as Delilah stumbled to a pillar supporting one of the regal stone archways. She stamped her feet on the bare ground and curled up into a ball, the roses overtaking her body.

“The fire, you imbecile! The fucking raven noticed the _fire_ !” And then she was gone, nothing but a sickly-looking rosebush where she had sat not a moment before. The Outsider stood, heart racing, and desperately searched for a place to hide. Nothing on the ground level - the strange curling vines and glowing moss weren’t deep enough to conceal him, but perhaps up in the tree? The Outsider jogged up to the gnarled trunk and looked up into the branches; they were rather thin, but seemed sturdy enough to support his weight, and the leaves would shroud him well enough from the ground. He began to scramble up the tree when the Void grew dark around him, the smell of oncoming rain filling his nose - and the far-off sound of wingbeats, drawing closer and closer. He climbed faster, shimmying along the rough bark and into a cluster of leaves big enough to hide in, and then he hunkered down and _waited_.

A wave of power rushed over him - not forceful or overwhelming, but it was thick and heavy like fog on the Wrenhaven River. It buzzed on his tongue and at the backs of his eyes as the wingbeats passed overhead and circled around before the sound of taloned feet landing hard against the ground echoed from beyond the stone walls. A strange cadence of movement drew closer - it was the strange shuffle-step of a bat’s wings, mixed with the elegant stride of a jungle cat and the constant susurrus of feathers. The Outsider saw a shadow loom through one of the archways, and he held his breath as its owner entered the stone ring.

It was what the Abbey would call a _horror_. A long neck, like that of a kingfisher, connected to a barrel-chested body which tapered into thin hips and a long tail. Its head was a mess of ink blue feathers that cascaded down over the face of a human man, concealing its eyes and nose; five thin spines of silvery blue metal emerged from beneath the feathers covering its forehead. Its chin was covered in brown stubble streaked through with silver gray, and as it moved closer to the tree it yawned, baring serrated black teeth set into snow white gums. The shuffle step came from the thing’s enormous wings - if the Outsider had to guess, they might be sixty feet across at the very least - that served as an extra set of limbs to walk upon. Its front legs were thick with muscle, and ended in dextrous hands tipped in black claws; the rear legs he likened to those of a leopard. The Outsider shifted in his perch to get a better look at its tail, which the creature held off the ground with practiced elegance; the mass of it was primarily diamond-shaped, with two long projections trailing out like the train of an elegant coat.

The creature scented the air, head dipped low to the ground. It scratched at the place Delilah had rolled about, disturbing the layer of feathers. It followed her movement to the sickly rose bush, passing underneath his hiding place, and when it sniffed closer at the charred spot the creature reared back in revulsion, wings beating once and stirring up a great cloud of feathers.

“ _R̸o̷s̷e̶ ̷w̸a̵t̴e̵r̸.̴ ̵W̶i̷t̵c̸h̵,̷ ̶w̸h̶e̴r̸e̷ ̴h̵a̸v̴e̷ ̷y̸o̵u̸ ̴g̸o̸n̶e̸_?” It spat, voice deep and resonating; even though the Outsider could understand it, he knew with certainty that it was not speaking in any human tongue. It snapped the fingers of its left hand, and the rose bush glowed briefly before being immolated with white blue flame. The Outsider shifted, trying to make himself smaller in the face of the creature’s wrath.

A mistake.

The branch he perched upon creaked ominously, then snapped, sending the Outsider tumbling down onto the creature’s lower back. He had just enough time to see its head snap around and its jaw go slack with shock, and then he was lying in bed in the safehouse, listening to the sizzle of Billie setting bacon into a hot pan.

The Outsider rolled onto his back and sat up, his heart racing inordinately for sleep. He rubbed at his face with one hand, taking deep and even breaths to try and stave off the adrenaline sparking through his system.

“You feeling okay?” He looked up at Billie, who scraped the bacon onto plates before cracking eggs into the pan. He swung his legs over he edge of the bed and got up, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

“Oh – yes, I’m alright. I feel…” The Outsider paused. The story of his dreaming in the Void sat on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. It was too close, still; it was the flash of teeth and crunch of bone, ozone and rain filling his lungs. “I feel as if I might have dreamed, but it’s escaped me.” Billie nodded in acceptance, flipping the eggs over with practiced delicacy to preserve their still runny yolks.

“That happens. After breakfast, do you want to go back up to the roof and train or would you like to do it in the afternoon?” She asked, lifting a corner of one of the eggs to check if the white was sufficiently cooked.

“Let’s do it sooner rather than later - it’s not as hot in the morning as it is later in the day.” The Outsider replied, collecting cutlery from its drawer to set his and Billie’s places with. They ate in comfortable silence, then took care of their dishes and headed up to the roof. Billie presented the Outsider with one of the new blades and they got to work.

Days passed in a similar manner - they would wake, eat, train on the roof, and around noon Billie and the Outsider would go their separate ways for a few hours and reconvene in the early evening, eat dinner together, bathe, and go to sleep. Most mornings he woke sore, body protesting the increased exercise, but slowly the soreness faded as his endurance increased. It felt… good, he supposed, to move and stretch after four thousand years of stillness, even if that movement came with sweat and bruises and the chance of nose-peeling sunburn.

Around mid afternoon on the 4th of Clans, a knock came at the door of the safehouse. The Outsider looked up from his journal - he was haphazardly sketching the creature from his dream; the long lines and elegant shapes of it eluded his novice skill set to represent accurately. He set down his pencil and got up to peer through the peephole - whoever was knocking wasn’t Billie, as Billie never had reason to knock.

To his surprise, it was the little girl from _Il Cavaliere d’Oro_ \- Gwendolyn, he remembered. He undid the lock and opened the door, startling the girl with his abruptness.

“Hello, Gwendolyn,” He greeted, and she bobbed her head in a polite greeting.

“Hello, Lord Rorqualus. _Monsieur_ Antonio sent me to tell you that your last set of clothes and the formalwear are ready to pick up.”

“Most excellent, thank you. Just let me put my boots on.” The girl waited as the Outsider stuffed his feet in his boots and locked the safehouse up behind himself. “Shall we?” Gwendolyn nodded and they departed. The walk to _Il Cavaliere_ was shorter now that the Outsider knew the streets around the safehouse quite well, and soon enough he was holding open the familiar door for Gwendolyn before entering himself.

Many of the mannequins and dress forms from last time had been shuffled around, their garments swapped out for new ones. Antonio himself was perched on a tall stool behind the countertop, nursing a cup of what appeared to be Serkonan cocoa. His mustache was as impeccable as ever.

“ _Signore_ ,” The Outsider greeted, dipping his head respectfully. Antonio’s face morphed from a calm placidity to a beaming grin as he stood to welcome the Outsider, and he set his tea down on the countertop.

“Ah, Lord Rorqualus! I trust Gwendolyn has told you the good news.” He ruffled the girl’s hair as she passed; she swiped playfully at the tailor’s hands and blew him a raspberry before disappearing into the depths of the shop.

“She did.” The Outsider confirmed, watching as Antonio produced a square bundle wrapped in tissue paper, which he placed upon the countertop with barely restrained glee. “I take it this is the formalwear?”

“Indeed, indeed, the other garments are here - ” Another tissue paper bundle was placed upon the counter as the Outsider joined him there. “ - but please, open the first package.” The Outsider did so, unraveling the tissue paper until his fingers touched smooth silk, which he grasped and held up.

It was a vest, cut in such precise angularity that just by looking at it the Outsider knew it would flatter his figure immensely. The fabric was a rich shimmering silk, dyed a magnificent and dark shade of Tyvian purple. As he set it back down and smoothed his hand over it, tiny threads of shimmering gold caught the light, and the Outsider was delighted to find the fabric had a subtle repeating pattern of stylized whales, their eyes and fins edged in the golden thread. The buttons were polished purpleheart, and when he looked closer he saw a curling wave had been carved into their surfaces. The Outsider looked up at Antonio, who was practically vibrating in excitement.

“So, what do you think?” He asked, and the Outsider laughed in delight.

“It’s absolutely magnificent. My goodness, _Signore,_ the court in Dunwall will be beside themselves at this.” He looked up at the tailor. “Truly, Antonio, I doubt any tailor from my homeland could match your skill.”

“Thank you, Lord Rorqualus. Still, you have only seen the vest so far; have a look at the rest!”

In all, the formalwear consisted of the vest, a snow white shirt with sleeves only a little looser than normal, a jacket of the whale-patterned silk with asymmetric lapels, tight fitting pantaloons, a fine necktie of white silk hemmed with gold thread, and a pair of white kidskin gloves.

“Again, Antonio, this is outstanding work. Thank you so much.”

“There’s one last thing - the jacket you ordered. I must admit I only finished it last night, but you will see why in a moment.” He over his shoulder at Gwendolyn in traditional Serkonan, his words rapid fire and musical. She emerged a few moments later, wheeling a dress form in front of her.

Upon it was a coat of dark blue wool, the kind that was both soft and water repellent. The yoke, upper chest, and elbow patches were reinforced with leather in the same shade of blue. Its asymmetric front was fastened with five brass buttons, the edges of the lapels piped in sun gold silk. The sleeves were constructed so movement would not be restricted while still keeping the fine silhouette of the garment. The hem was diamond-shaped, with the back portion split into tails. The Outsider unbuttoned the lapel to examine the lining and found that the fabric was heavier than he expected; he shot an inquisitive glance at Antonio, who looked quite a bit like a cat that got the cream.

“Here, Lord Rorqualus,” He said, drawing close. “Is the real value of my work.” Then, without warning, he whipped a knife out of his pocket and slashed the blade across the coat on the dress form with great force, causing it to squeak back across the wooden floor. The Outsider startled, then looked close at the coat: where Antonio had struck it, not a tear nor hole could be found.

“Knight-weave cloth. Virtually knife, bullet, and fireproof; it’s an old invention from Tyvia, where assassinations could come for the aristocracy at any moment.” His eyes were knowing. “I won’t claim to know you, Lord Rorqualus, but those who keep Miss Foster’s company often need all the protection they can get.”

“It is true, I have been quite safe so far, but that’s most likely due to Meagan’s presence. Dunwall is a cutthroat city, Antonio. Your work will serve me well there, and I thank you for it.”

“And it has been a pleasure, Lord Rorqualus, to serve you. Gwendolyn, dear, would you help me pack up everything?” There was a lull in conversation as the two quickly refolded the formalwear and bundled the coat into its own tissue paper package, then stacked everything neatly up within an elegant crimson paper bag, which was then passed to the Outsider by Gwendolyn.

“Farewell, Antonio.” The Outsider bid, shaking the man’s hand over the counter, and he looked to Gwendolyn, who was spinning around on one of the stools. “Farewell, Gwendolyn.” She halted her revolutions and shot him a causal, two fingered salute.

“Farewell, Lord Rorqualus. It has been an absolute pleasure.” The tailor replied, and the Outsider exited the shop.

During his walk back to the safehouse, he basked in the sea breeze flowing up the hilly streets and the warmth of the afternoon sun on his cheeks. He looked out over the streets of Karnaca, and a swelling sense of contentment curled within his chest.

He understood now, in the most minute of ways, why Corvo was so fascinating.

Corvo was so very human; he could feel echoes of him in every conversation, every mouthful of food, every breath of Karnacan air.

The Outsider smiled to himself as he walked, and felt as if Corvo walked beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i SUPER LIED about Corvo being Sir Not Appearing in this Fic, so i changed the tags


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps mic on a stage in an empty room* uh, anybody still here?

The Month of Clans ticked by into the Month of Songs; each day Billie and the Outsider trained, trading blows as they danced back and forth across the rooftop. Slowly, the Outsider felt his body growing stronger as fine whipcord muscle refined in his willowy arms and legs. His palms blistered and developed calluses from holding a sword for the better part of the day, and his fingers grew dextrous and nimble from playing his guitar for the rest of it. Billie seemed satisfied with their progress; he had only managed to disarm her twice so far, but she had laughed in delight and congratulated him after retrieving her blade. The Outsider savored each moment with her, as he knew their time together was drawing to a close.

Then, bright and early on the 10th of Songs when the fog still lingered upon the bay and chilled the morning air, Billie walked him down a nondescript pier in the Campo Seta Dockyards. He was wrapped up in his knight-weave coat to ward off the slight chill; his little trunk was clutched in his right hand, guitar strapped to his back, and a rucksack was slung over his left shoulder. With every step, his and Billie’s knuckles brushed together, and they watched the gulls wheel over the bay. 

At the end of the pier a ship with three masts was tied off, and at first glance it appeared to be an average, if old, fishing boat; then the Outsider looked closer and saw armor plating, cannon ports, and the distinctive signs of a heavy-duty engine hidden deep in its bowels. A bowsprit in the shape of a winged woman holding aloft a long-bladed spear was cast in bronze, her face stern under her antiquated helmet. Beneath her wing the name _Justice Strike_ was painted in curling white letters. 

The ship’s deck was a hive of activity. What seemed like hundreds of wooden barrels were being rolled down ramps to the pier by dozens of industrious sailors, and empty ones were loaded back on board. A tall Serkonan woman, her hair sheared close to her scalp, was scribbling on a clipboard as she leaned against a support pile by the unloading ramp, most likely keeping inventory of the offloaded cargo. The pair drew close to her, and Billie cleared her throat politely to catch her attention. 

“Hello. Are you part of General Balshera’s crew?” Billie asked, and the woman nodded without turning her eyes away from the barrels being unloaded.

“Aye. You have business with the General, or are you here to pass off your gentleman friend to her?” Billie stifled an amused snort.

“The latter. I arranged passage through one Mindy Blanchard.” The woman flipped the page on her clipboard, trailing her pen down the length of the paper. 

“And are you Sheol Rorqualus or Temmin Anaser?” she inquired, eyeing the Outsider with a critical eye.

“The former, miss.” He answered, subconsciously straightening up under her gaze. She hummed in response, made a quick note upon the paper, then returned the top page to its original position.

“Aight. Everything seems to be in order,” she nodded her head at the Outsider. “You’re on the second deck, in the cabin by the laundry. Check in with Darcy first before you try to go below. He’s the beanpole up by the wheel.”

“Thank you.” The Outsider and Billie said in unison, and then the woman was walking off to speak to one of her comrades, leaving the two alone. They turned to look each other in the eye. All at once the truth of the situation seemed to weigh on him; he was leaving Karnaca, leaving Billie, his first friend in his mortal life. He set his trunk down on the pier and held out his arms a little, offering a hug in a manner that communicated he would not be offended if she refused it. 

Billie stepped into the semicircle of his limbs and wrapped her arms around his middle, causing the Outsider to fold down upon her, hands coming up to press softly against her shoulder blades. They stood together for a few moments, taking in the warmth of each other, the rise and fall of their breathing, the careful beat of their hearts. The Outsider lifted his head a little to press his lips against Billie’s hair, savoring their contact.

“Thank you. For everything.” He mumbled into her hair, and Billie laughed into his chest. “If there’s anything you need that’s within my limited power to grant, do not hesitate to ask.”

“It’s been a pleasure having you.” She pulled back a little and reached up to ruffle his hair, fondness in her every motion. He let her slip from his embrace, missing her already. “I promise I’ll write you, even if I don’t need anything. You’ve been a good friend to me these past weeks.”

“I… you too, Billie.” He cradled her left hand between his own, fingertips smoothing over the back of it. He knew every scar and blemish on her hands, but even after living together for a considerable amount of time, she was still a mystery to him. “Do you think you would have accepted the Mark, if I had come to you when I Was?”

“Perhaps… perhaps before I met Daud, it might have been good for me. I think if you had the power to give it to me now, I’d refuse it. Not because I don’t appreciate its power, or that you think me interesting enough, but because what I already have is - ”

“Better. You arm and eye, those are _yours_ , though they were granted by an incident of my making. They’re between you and the Void.”

“They are. I think I like it that way.” She looked out over the ocean and let out a relaxed sigh. “But you’ve got a boat to catch, and a Royal Protector to see.”

“That I do. Farewell, Billie Lurk. May we meet again.”

“Farewell, Outsider.” 

They drew apart, the Outsider taking a few steps backwards as he hitched his guitar strap higher on his shoulder and gripped the handle of his trunk tight. Then he turned away, joining the stream of sailors walking up the gangplank of the _Justice Strike_ , strides sure and long. He wound his way around barrels and burly sailors, up a small flight of stairs to the deck of the sterncastle. A man with pale blonde hair leaned against the railing by the wheel; he had curling tattoos in black and blue ink curling up his forearms, and he worried a bonbon of some kind in his mouth. The Outsider approached, making sure to stop in a place that would keep him out of amy foot traffic.

“Pardon me, but are you Darcy?” The man’s gaze slid to the Outsider, and he smiled around the bonbon before removing it to speak.

“That would be me, yes. Did Bianca send you up here?” Darcy waved over the side to the woman who had signed the Outsider in. 

“Yes, she did. She mentioned you’d give me a hand finding my cabin?”

“Of course, of course. Follow me.” Darcy led the Outsider back down the steps of the sterncastle and down below the weather-deck, beneath the gun deck, and deep into the lantern-lit bowels of the _Justice Strike._ “So what’s your name? We’re gonna be on the same boat for a while, might as well learn it now.”

“Sheol - Sheol Rorqualus.” Darcy whistled, ducking through a doorway and taking a right at an intersection of halls.

“By the Void, your parents must’ve hated you.” The Outsider frowned for a moment, then let out a little huffing laugh.

“It is a mouthful, isn’t it?” He replied, amused.

“Yes, but the good news about that is I won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.” The sailor came to a halt at the second to last door at the end of the hall, before one labeled ‘ _LAUNDRY’_ with a tarnished brass plaque. “Here we are, home sweet home for now.” Darcy unlatched the door and waved the Outsider into the space beyond, staying out in the hall - and for good reason. The room was a cramped little thing, with enough space for a cot, a desk, and a four stride pace from wall to wall. The Outsider entered and set his trunk down on the floor, sliding it underneath the cot with a careful push of his boot. 

“Thank you for your help, Darcy, it was most kind.” The Outsider said, and the sailor shot him a sunny smile. 

“You just get yourself settled, Mister Rorqualus. Someone’ll be by in a bit to round everyone up once we’re underway.” Darcy said, then vanished back down the hallway again. The Outsider shut the door and turned back to his cabin, giving the space a more thorough observation.

It was quite mild within, and a low humming sound purred from inside one of the walls. He set his hand against it and was surprised to find the metal was warm to the touch, and vibrated subtly under his fingers - most likely a hot water pipe ran behind the steel sheeting. He turned around and saw a row of coat hooks bolted to the wall by the door, so he unbuttoned his coat and hung it up before sitting down upon the cot. It turned out to be quite comfortable, the mattress pleasantly springy. With quick, practiced motions, he discarded his boots and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes to get a little repose. 

The near-silent vibration of the pipe lulled him into a half-trance; the Outsider was vaguely aware of his own body, lying comfortably on his cot, but more so of the waves lapping against the outer plates of the _Justice Strike._ His awareness followed the edge of the ship, pausing at a collection of mussels beginning to take root upon the metal. He watched them pull water into their shells and filter it through their soft bodies. All at once he was caught on the current of a wave, his mind swept out into the bay. He was able to right himself and and flow outwards in a much more controlled manner, twisting through the eddies and gyres of the sea. He poured through beams of sunlight trickling down from the surface of the sea and down to the sandy bottom of Karnaca Bay. The bright life-forces of fish and crustaceans and mollusks sparkled around him like stars. He followed the sweeping form of a stingray as it cruised across the seafloor, then jumped to the lithe, twisting form of a moray eel striking out at a tiny, shimmering shad. He watched as the moray feasted, then moved on to the darting, lightning-quick presence of a dolphinfish. The Outsider lost himself in the goings-on below the surface of the bay, delighting in everything he saw.

He was startled back into his own body lying on the cot by a knock at the door of his cabin. He blinked at the ceiling in confusion, then leapt to his feet and opened the door. A willowy woman, words thick with a Serkonan accent, stood out in the hallway. She was shorter than him, with curly brown hair cut very short and dressed in sturdy clothing with sensible boots.

“Is it time?” The Outsider asked, blinking the afterimages of the strange sea-sight from his eyes.

“Yep!” The sailor replied cheerfully, “Do you know your own way around, or would you like for me to wait for you?”

“If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I just need to put my boots back on.” She nodded and leaned against the doorframe as the Outsider stuffed his feet into his boots and tucked his coat over his shoulders, not bothering to slide his arms through the sleeves. The sailor walked off down the hall, waving for the Outsider to follow her.

“You’ll get used to the twists and turns soon enough,” She said cheerfully, steps bouncing with energy as she wound through the decks, the Outsider close on her heels. “What’s your name, by the way? I saw you talking with Darcy up on the sterncastle but I haven’t had the chance to talk to him yet, the General’s been having me check the ribs down in the bilge - we’ll probably need to replace them sooner rather than later, they’re wooden and are almost as old as the Empire itself.” She spoke with a quick, rapidfire cadence like she could never get her words out fast enough.

“Sheol. And you are…?”

“Lucille, Lucille Turner. I look after the sails and masts of this rig, along with picking the fish out of the nets like everyone else. What do you do? Er, if you don’t wanna say, you don’t have to, I’m a bit too curious for my own good sometimes.”

“No, no, you’re fine.” He had to think for a moment, considering himself. “I… I suppose you could call me a musician. Or a historian. Or a natural philosopher. I know a bit of everything.” They emerged onto the weather deck at the back of a mass of sailors and fisherpeople. The bay was rushing by, the great sweep of the Addermire railway retreating behind the ship with every passing moment. Many of the crew were perched in the lower sections of rigging or upon empty barrels still needing to be tucked away below deck but all gave their undivided attention to a woman standing on a crate by the railing of the sterncastle.

She was quite short, which explained her perch, but even from the starboard side of the weather deck the Outsider could feel that her presence demanded respect - and it would be deserved. Her nut brown face was lined with age, and her hair was a shock of silver beneath an elaborately decorated tricorn hat. Beneath an emerald green greatcoat she wore a loose shirt of white cotton tucked into practical trousers, and a rapier was strapped to her hip. 

_This_ could be none other than General Lizabete Balshera.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she addressed the crowd before her, voice sonorous and musical with a slight Serkonan accent, “Welcome aboard the _Justice Strike_ . Many of you have sailed aboard our bonny lass before, but to those who have not, I bid you welcome. We’ll be sailing around the Shirra island chain, stopping in Cullero for the Fugue Feast, and arriving in Dunwall to offload our cargo and any passengers in the third week of the Month of Earth, if no delays are to be had. During the voyage, we will be casting our nets for herring. Everyone has been assigned a schedule, which you will pick up after we’re done here. You _will_ stick to your schedule. If you have any questions or concerns about your schedule, speak to Bianca about it.” General Balshera pointed at the tall woman who was leaning against the mainmast, arms crossed over her chest. “Included with your schedule is a Code of Conduct. Read it. If you break the Code of Conduct, you _will_ answer to me. Dismissed!” 

Everyone broke into a flurry of activity; four vague lines took shape on the weather deck, each leading to a team of three sailors who began passing out schedules. Lucille caught the Outsider’s shoulder and maneuvered him into one of the lines, taking a place beside him. 

“This bit’ll go by quick enough, then we’ll have an hour or two before the afternoon shift starts.” Lucille told him, hands patting a quick rhythm out on her thighs as they waited, shuffled forward with the line, and waited a bit more. 

“Afternoon shift?” The Outsider asked, curious. “I’m assuming it takes place in the afternoon, but what are the specifics?”

“Well, there’s four shifts total; morning, afternoon, evening, and nightowl.” She began, holding up her hands in front of her chest, palms facing one another. “Come on, mirror me.” The Outsider mimicked her, and she clapped her hands together once and held out her right palm for him to clap with his own right hand. He did so, and soon they were clap-pat-clapping their way through the line. “Each shift is six hours long, with a thirty minute break in the middle. Afternoon shift starts at noon and goes till six, evening from six to midnight, nightowl from midnight to six in the morning, and morning from six to noon. Pretty simple, and keeps everyone from overworking themselves.” 

“Lucille, you and the new guy gonna take ya damn schedules or not?” A grumbling voice interrupted them, and the Outsider realized they had unknowingly made it to the front of the line. The voice belonged to a grizzled old fisherman with tobacco-stained teeth and small, watery blue eyes, holding Lucille’s schedule in a meaty fist. The Outsider’s guide made a face and snatched the paper from the man, stuffing it into her belt.

“Shut it, Angus.” She hissed at him, then patted the Outsider on the shoulder. “Old coot just needs your name.” The Outsider stepped forward and drew himself up, looking Angus in the eye.

“Sheol Rorqualus.” He said, clear and firm. Angus raised a greasy eyebrow and shuffled through his remaining schedules, pulling one from the bottom of his pile and passing it to the Outsider with a modicum more respect than when he had thrust Lucille’s at her. The Outsider took it and tucked it into his coat. 

“Thank you.” He said to the man, then let Lucille drag him off and away to read their schedules in peace. 

“What was his problem?” The Outsider asked Lucille, and she made a face as if she had smelled something particularly foul.

“Oh, Angus? Nothing, he’s just a grimy, superstitious old man who wouldn’t know a bar of soap if he washed his mouth out with one.” She grumbled as they walked. “Best to keep away from him.”

They ended up near the bowsprit of the _Justice Strike_ , the bronze woman’s grand wings providing them a little shade from the mid morning sun. The Outsider flipped open his schedule as Lucille did the same.

“Hm, let’s see… from today to the 25th of Songs I’ll be on the afternoon shift, which is nice, then after that I’m on the evening shift. And my work group is Darcy, Miss Sanyal, Miss Pennas, and… oh! Last member is you!” Lucille beamed at the Outsider, and he smiled back at her.

“It’ll be nice to have spoken to some of my work group beforehand,” He said, checking over his own schedule. He had the same shifts as Lucille, and his assigned laundry day was Friday. It would be nice to have the morning free for the voyage - the sea wind was cool and pure, and he could almost taste its magic on his tongue.

“True enough! Let’s go meet them now, they’re scattered around but it’ll be easy to find them from the rigging.” Lucille led him to the foremast, which had a complex web of lines and pegs trailing all the way up its height. She climbed until she was about twice her height off the deck and paused, looking down over her shoulder at the Outsider. “You’ll probably want to put your coat on proper, don’t want anything getting in the way of your hands.” The Outsider slid his arms through the sleeves and buttoned his coat back up, then followed Lucille up the mast, paying close attention to how and where she was maneuvering herself. They climbed up to the lowest yard and scooted out along its length, supporting themselves upon the footropes. Lucille peered out over the yard and scanned the deck for the rest of their group.

“Well, Darcy’s not hard to find, beanpole that he is, so I’ll let you look for him. Miss Sanyal has dark hair kept twisted up in a braid, but that describes half the women on this ship - ah, I know! She always wears a sash of orange and red silk tied around her waist, and she has little silver bell-chains in her braid as well. Miss Pennas is short and broad in the shoulder and waist, and I think she was wearing a knit sweater when I passed her in the hall earlier this morning.” The Outsider cast his gaze over the deck, eyes flicking from person to person. Soon enough he spotted Darcy’s mop of white-blonde hair, and he pointed the man out to Lucille, who clapped her hands in delight, then pointed off towards the mainmast. He could see a woman matching Miss Sanyal’s description standing next to who appeared to be Miss Pennas.

“That was quick. You have a good eye, Lucille.” The Outsider said, sliding back down the length of the yard to the foremast.

“Thank you, Sheol,” She replied, following after him. Instead of descending the foremast like he expected, she climbed up to the topsail yard, braced herself against the great aluminum beam, then _leapt_ across to the mainsail yard of the mainmast with all the grace of a dancer. She caught herself on a pair of ropes and swung herself back around to face the Outsider, a shining smile on her face.

“Come on now, Sheol!” She called. The Outsider let out a little nervous whistle.

“That was impressive, but I’m not too sure I can make that jump, Lucille.” He said, raising his voice over the wind.

“Sure you can! Just grab one of the hand ropes, brace your feet against the yard, then lean back to give yourself some extra momentum before you jump!” 

“... alright. But no laughing at me if I scream.”

The Outsider closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. He felt the breeze in his hair, heard the creak of the ropes with every subtle shift of the great vessel beneath him. Again, he let his mind touch the waves, tracking how they moved against the hull and in turn made the masts move ever so slightly. He breathed in, then out. Then seemingly of their own accord, he felt his body move as Lucille instructed; his hands grabbed the hand rope, he braced his feet against the yard, leaned back into the subtle rock of the ship, and when it moved back towards the mainmast, he opened his eyes, pushed off the yard and _jumped._ For a single, heart-stopping second he was airborne, suspended between the masts and almost thirty five feet off the surface of the weatherdeck - and then his feet met the mainsail yard and he was gripping the hand ropes for dear life. He gasped in a rattling breath and let it out in a high, flustered laugh. Lucille, for her part, whooped excitedly and clapped her hands.

“You did it! And you didn’t scream! We’ll make a rigging-rat out of you yet, Sheol.” She praised, then began to descend the mainmast towards Miss Sanyal and Miss Pennas. The Outsider laughed again, heart racing in his chest as he followed her.

“I’ve the strangest feeling that eventually I will, if you keep roping me into performing stunts like that.” Soon enough their boots were back on the weather deck again, and Lucille greeted their group mates.

“Miss Sanyal, Miss Pennas,” She greeted, and the two women waved hello. Miss Sanyal was indeed wearing her orange and red sash, but her hair was down, spilling over her dusky brown shoulders. Her eyes were beetle-dark, and her cheeks were splashed with freckles.

“Miss Turner,” They returned in unison.

“This is Sheol, he’ll be in our work group for the trip, along with Darcy.” The Outsider bowed at each in turn. They laughed at his manners, but not unkindly.

“It is good to meet you both,” He said, and Miss Pennas held her hand out for him to shake. As he took her hand, his eye was caught by the polychromatic tattooed tentacles twisting their way up her arms to settle at the hollow of her throat; a great squid’s mantle vanished beneath the collar of her shirt, its eyes centered over the spurs of her collarbones.

“Hey now,” Miss Pennas said as they released their grip on one another, “My eyes are up here.” The Outsider flushed bright pink.

“Oh, er, I wasn’t looking at - no, just, your tattoo is incredible, I’m sorry - ” His rambling was cut off by her boisterous laugh, and he realized belatedly that she was just teasing him. Miss Pennas knocked her shoulder against Miss Sanyal’s arm, her face bright with a smile.

“He can sit with us, Lucille.” Miss Sanyal said. “Come on, let’s go get Darcy.” Together, the four of them wound their way up the ladder of the sterncastle to where Darcy was sucking absentmindedly on a new bonbon - judging by the bright crimson that stained the inner line of his lips, it was probably flavored with a berry of some kind.

“Darcy!” Miss Pennas called as they drew close to him. “We’re the rest of your work group.” he nodded at the women, and when he caught sight of the Outsider he grinned.

“Good to see you again, Sheol.” He said, and the Outsider dipped his head. “Come on everyone, let’s go find something to eat before our shift starts.” Together they all wound back down into the lower decks of the _Justice Strike._ They descended past the deck the Outsider’s cabin was on to the one directly below it  and to the very back of the ship. Miss Sanyal, who was in front, held a door labeled ‘ _MESS HALL’_ open for everyone as they filed into the room beyond. 

The mess hall was decently sized, with four long tables placed in the center, the kitchen at the back of the hall, and warm white-gold light pouring from utilitarian lamps affixed to the ceiling. The Outsider trailed behind Lucille as everyone took a seat at one of the tables; he  and Lucille sat on one side of the table while Miss Pennas and Miss Sanyal sat on the other. Darcy did not sit, but patted Lucille on the shoulder.

“I’ll go get tea and lunch for us all, shall I?” Then he was off towards the kitchen, head and shoulders high above the rest of the crowd. The Outsider watched him go, marvling a little at the way Darcy so easily flowed from task to task.

“So, Mister Rorqualus, what brings you aboard sweet _Justice_?” Miss Pennas inquired, leaning forward upon her elbows. Her face was open and curious, and the Outsider gave her a little smile.

“I’ve a dear friend in Dunwall that I haven’t seen in a long while, so I’m off to visit him.” He lowered his eyes to the grain of the table, gaze following the grooves of it. “I’ve fallen on what one could call hard times, although I’ve means to support myself, and haven’t exchanged words with him for a good long while because of that.”

“I see. What do you do then, if you don’t mind me asking?” She questioned, and the Outsider smiled again, showing his teeth in a pleased grin.

“I suppose you could call me a bard of lore.” He considered. “In Karnaca I sang and played on street corners for coin, and I trained with a swordswoman who would be more at home in a fable. Before that, I studied the music of all the Isles, from since anyone cared to write things down.” There was a chorus of interested sounds, and then Darcy was at his elbow, sliding sturdy copper mugs to everyone before pouring out scalding-hot tea from a deep-bellied kettle. A tray was slid into the middle of the table, bearing a fragrant dish of chicken in spiced tomato and cream sauce, accompanied by steaming brown rice.

“A man of music, you say?” Darcy said as he slid onto the bench next to the Outsider and distributed bowls and cutlery. “Haven’t had such a man aboard our lady since the one back in - ”

“Absolutely not, that dullard hardly knew a dirge from a ballad!” Lucille interrupted, leaning around the Outsider to point at him accusingly. “Darcy, I will not have you besmirch Mister Rorqualus’s profession by putting that tart among his number.” Darcy raised his hands in mock defense, a rueful grin on his face.

“Very well, very well.” He leaned back around her back to look at the Outsider, passing him a fragrant bowl. “Would you sing for us, then? Show us what a true bard is like, after our poor experience with the last one.” The Outsider laughed and nodded, setting his dish down in front of him before he cleared his throat as he thought of something to sing.

“Ah!” He said after a moment or two. “I’ve got just the thing:

_“We are outward bound for Cullero town_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_And we'll heave the old wheel round and round_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_And when we get to Cullero town_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_Oh, 'tis there we'll drink and sorrow drown_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_Them girls down south are free and gay_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_With them we'll spend our hard-earned pay_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_We'll swing around, we'll have good fun_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_And soon we'll be back on the homeward run_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_And when we get to Dunwall town_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_For the very last time we'll waltz around_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_With Poll and Meg and Sally too_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_We'll drink and dance with a hullabaloo_

_Good morning ladies all!_

_So a long goodbye to all you dears_

_With a heave-o, haul!_

_Don't cry for us, don't waste your tears_

_Good morning ladies all!”_

At the last sustaining note, his work-mates clapped in appreciation, with Darcy and Lucille giving little whoops of delight. 

“Well, bless me!” Darcy crowed, clapping the Outsider on the shoulder. “You’ve a voice from the great theatres of Wynnedown, Mister Rorqualus. It’ll be a pleasure to have you aboard ‘till Dunwall. For now, however, let us feast!” And then there was very little talking between everyone other than the occasional request to pass the rice or refill a teacup. Soon every last bit of sauce had been sopped up into rice and devoured, and they all sat for a little while and nursed their mugs of tea. It was hot and sweet, a blend of mint and lemongrass that cast a lovely perfume over the table. Miss Sanyal glanced at the clock, then let out a little noise of surprise.

“By the Void, is it that time already?” The Outsider turned to look for himself; the hands of the time piece read that half an hour remained before the start of the afternoon shift. “We’d better finish up here, lads and ladies, we’ve got work to do!” There was a flurry as everyone at the table began to eat a smidge quicker and sip tea a little faster, and soon plates and cups were piled on the serving tray in the middle. Miss Pennas collected the tray once everyone had finished with their food and stood up, balancing the nearly precarious mountain of dishes with grace. As a group they moved back to the exit of the mess, where Miss Pennas deposited the contents of the tray in a series of bins labelled with the names of the different utensils; forks, knives, plates, et cetera. Then they ascended the stairs and turned out onto the weather-deck, where Lucille made for a list of assignments posted to the door of General Balshera’s cabin. The rest of the group waited by the mainmast for her to return, and when she did it was with a skip in her step.

“Good news!” She cheered, “We’re on rope duty!” The others hummed in mild contentment, and then they were all scrambling up the mainmast. Miss Pennas, Miss Sanyal, and Darcy began their work immediately, and Lucille pulled the Outsider aside to show him how to find ropes in need of replacing, pulleys in need of oiling, and many other things besides. As she spoke, her words seemed to knock loose something in his mind; he remembered doing this very task thousands and thousands of times - memory drawn from every sailor upon the _Justice Strike._ Once Lucille was satisfied she had explained thins sufficiently, she patted his shoulder encouragingly and wound her way up tp the topsail gallant yard. The Outsider set to work, and for fifteen minutes became deeply absorbed in his task.

Then, a particularly strong gust of wind whipped through the Outsider’s hair, and he breathed the sea air in. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in the Void - but the warmth of the sun was enough to dissuade the illusion. He looked down at the weather-deck, where two-thirds of the afternoon shift buzzed about like so many bees. The other third was up in the rigging, leaping and swinging from mast to mast like squirrels. 

“Mister Rorqualus!” Lucille called to him from up above. The Outsider leaned around a web of ropes and pulleys to look up at her. “Sing another shanty for us, should you care to!”

“As you wish!” He cast his gaze about at the other rigging-runners, and raised his voice to a great call. “Any requests, everyone?” At once there was a great clamor as everyone began shouting the names of different shanties and jigs.

“Fathom the Bowl!”

“No, Star of the County Down!”

“Ach, sod that! Let’s do William Taylor!”

The Outsider sighed, and did away with all the suggestions by whistling high and clear over the hubbub. As all eyes turned to him, he took a deep breath down to the bottom of his lungs and began to sing, wind buffeting his hair.

_“Come all you young sailors and listen to me_

_I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea;_

_And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys_

_When the wind blows, we're all together, boys;_

_Blow ye winds easterly, blow ye winds, blow_

_Jolly nor’easterly, boys, steady she goes!_

_Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail_

_Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail!_

_And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys_

_When the wind blows, we're all together, boys;_

_Blow ye winds easterly, blow ye winds, blow_

_Jolly nor’easterly, boys, steady she goes!”_

The Outsider let the song pass from sailor to sailor, each singing their own verse then letting him lead the chorus once again. They sang of tuna and shark and smelt and every fish in between, passing a good quarter hour in song as they toiled up above the weather deck. Eventually his throat began to grow sore, so he added his own verse once more:

_“Then up jumps the whale, the largest of all_

_‘If you want any wind, well, I'll blow ye a squall!’_

_And it's windy weather, boys, stormy weather, boys_

_When the wind blows, we're all together, boys;_

_Blow ye winds easterly, blow ye winds, blow_

_Jolly nor’easterly, boys, steady she goes!”_

Applause and cheers went up around the deck, and the Outsider gave a little bow as much as he was able without losing his balance. He made to return to the rhythm of checking each of the ropes for damage when a flash of emerald green caught his eye. General Balshera stood by the ship-wheel, her sharp gaze upon him. He paused in his work, watching her in turn and taking in the manner of her bearing. As his eyes landed on the shining silver rapier on her hip, a thought struck him. He turned away from the General and looked about for Lucille, who was checking over the pulleys up by the crow’s nest. The Outsider wound his way up to her through ropes and around other sailors, stopping his ascent at the topgallant yard. 

“Lucille,” he called up to her, and she waved a hand at him in greeting. “Is General Balshera known for her sword-work?”

“Certainly! If there’s ever a free moment or two she likes to spar with some of the other sailors who actually know their way around a blade.”

“Do you think she’d be amenable to practicing with me? I’m still learning and it’d be foolish of me to slack off between teachers.”

“I doubt she’d mind, I heard her complaining a few weeks ago that she missed fighting new people. You can probably ask her after the shift is done - for now, get back to the rope inspections.” The Outsider smiled up at her in thanks before descending to the mainsail yard once more and continuing on with his careful scrutiny of the lines.

The sun beat down on his back as he methodically wound his way up the mainmast, and he adjusted the hood of his coat to keep from searing his skin. Occasionally he would find a rope in questionable condition and would call out to Miss Pennas for assistance with it. The afternoon rushed by into evening as the sun dipped from its zenith to the horizon. When the western sky was stained pink and gold and the air began to chill, a horn was blown to signal the end of the shift. The Outsider was sore and sweaty, but he felt light and accomplished. All the ropes on the mainmast had been inspected and either repaired or marked for the next shift to take care of. He, Darcy, Lucille, Miss Pennas, and Miss Sanyal all chattered gaily at one another as they descended into the mess hall for a dinner of hearty lentil soup. Between spoonfuls, the conversation turned to the Outsider’s musical skill once more.

“Do you write your own songs, Mister Rorqualus?” Miss Sanyal inquired between sips of mint tea. The Outsider’s spoon paused between his bowl and his mouth as he answered.

“I haven’t written whole songs, just little snippets of verses and lyrics here and there. I think eventually I’ll perform them, but I’ve nothing worth singing aloud right now.”

“Would you be willing to give us a lyric, or a verse if you like? I must admit, Mister Rorqualus, I’m terribly curious.” Darcy said, easy smile on his face. The Outsider smiled back hesitantly, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh, alright.” He acquiesced, then cleared his throat. 

_“Don't touch the sleeping pills, they mess with my head_

_Dredging the Great White Sharks, swimming in the bed_

_And here comes a Killer Whale, to sing me to sleep_

_Thrashing the covers off, it has me by it's teeth.”_

He did not start out singing the words, but as he continued a melody flowed into his voice without his noticing. When he finished the sailors all made noises of encouragement, and the Outsider nearly jumped a foot in the air as soft applause sprouted from behind him, the kind only produced by a single pair of hands. He twisted around to find the source and his brows leapt in surprise. 

General Balshera stood behind him, an enigmatic smile on her face. Since the Outsider had last seen her she had dispensed of her hat and coat, leaving her in her loose shirt and finely tailored trousers.

“Mister Rorqualus, was it? You’re a man of remarkable talent - I overheard your song at lunch-time, and nobody aboard could have missed the qualities of the fish in the sea.”

“I… thank you, General.”

“You know, General,” Lucille piped up from across the table, “Mister Rorqualus said he’d been training  with a blade in Karnaca, but his teacher remained in the city.” She shot the Outsider a little wink as she sipped the dregs of her stew from the bowl.

“Is that so?” Balshera said, and her eyes crinkled in delight. “If you should care to, Mister Rorqualus, I spend the mornings down in the engine room doing exercises. You’d be welcome to join me.”

“I’d be pleased to, General. Thank you again.” She patted his shoulder gently, then continued on her way. The Outsider let out a breath. There was something terrifying about the General’s presence that he couldn’t put his finger on - perhaps he would figure it out later. He scraped up the last few spoonfuls of soup from his bowl.

“Well, it seems as though I’m going to get the shit kicked out of me tomorrow morining, so I’m off to the showers and then to bed.” There was a chorus of goodnights and the clattering of dishes as the Outsider collected empty bowls and cups to take to the collection bin by the door. After carefully setting his cargo down he headed back to his quarters to collect a clean change of clothes, then up the hall to the showers. 

The room was already filled with steam and several of the shower stalls were occupied, so the Outsider quickly procured two towels - one large and one small -  from the linen closet and a sliver of soap and a small container of shampoo from a dispenser nearby. He slipped into a vacant stall and turned on the water, testing it with his fingers between articles of clothing as he stripped down. He rubbed the shampoo into his scalp and scrubbed himself with the soap wrapped up in the small hand-towel, the length of the day catching up to him under the hot spray. Once he rinsed himself clean he shut off the water and vigorously dried himself with the large towel, he dressed himself in the clean clothes and folded up the old ones before pulling on his boots and exiting the stall. He paused to deposit his used towels in the laundry chute and headed back to his room. 

He opened his door one handed and set his clothes down on the desk before shucking off his coat and hanging it up. He cracked open his trunk and set the dirty garments into the top half, then slid it back under the bed. The buckles on his boots jingled merrily as he undid them and kicked them off, peeling up the covers on the bed and sliding beneath them. He snuffed out the rat-light on the floor and rolled over to face the wall, where he let out an exhausted sigh as sleep took him immediately.

* * *

 

He was cold. 

The Outsider opened his eyes and found himself in a bottomless abyss of saltwater, devoid of light and life. At first he choked, expecting to drown with no hope of a rescuing breath, but when he gasped in the water flowed through his lungs as easily as air. He kicked his feet and discovered could move about by swimming, although with great difficulty; the water seemed to crush in on him from all sides, an unseen current sweeping his hair into his eyes. He swam without direction or purpose, hoping that his movement would stir warmth into his chilled limbs. Time seemed to slow to a halt and accelerate beyond comprehension as he moved, and he knew not if he swam for moments or millenium. He could breathe in here, the saltwater around him no denser than air - but every breath chilled him from within. 

Then, after a timeless period, something shone in the distance; it was dark red and pulsed as if it were alive. The Outsider swam with renewed vigor - finally, a tangible landmark! Slowly he drew closer and closer to the glowing thing, and he noticed the water growing hot as a bath in strange pockets and eddies. It smelled of sulfur, sparking on the back of his tongue with every breath. Now he could see the form of the glowing thing in the water, illuminated by its own chthonic light.

It was an upwelling of lava, the molten blood of the planet itself. It flowed from unknown points far to the left and right of him, dripping around a sphere of space about thirty feet in diameter. The liquid rock cooled and reheated in a strange, throbbing rhythm around the sphere, illuminating the space within with fluctuating patterns of red and orange light. The Outsider drew as close as he dared; the heat was now almost unbearably intense, as if he stood beside a forge at the height of summer. He gazed past the dripping lines of lava and saw - 

\- _a man_. 

He looked to be frozen in the middle of falling, or most likely _sinking_ , judging by the heavy whale vertebra lashed to his neck with a hangman’s noose. He could not see the man’s face from his position; it was dark within the sphere of magma, and his hair was long and billowed around his face in thick black-brown locks streaked through with silver. Whale-oil sloughed off his skin in strange snaking trails, motionless droplets of arcane blue suspended in the water around him. A shroud - or perhaps it was a cloak - of black feathers was the only article of clothing on him, and its billowing folds covered nothing but his groin and arms. 

The Outsider stared at the man for a long while as he tread water, trying to commit every detail to memory; but the whale vertebra drew his eye again and again like a magnet. It resonated with an energy that made his teeth rattle in his skull and a ringing erupt in his ears; it was an energy that reminded him of the Twin-Bladed Knife.

He swam around the perimeter of the sphere, trying to find an angle that would cast the man’s face into the meagre light emitted by the whale-oil and liquid rock. He drifted just above and in front of the man, but he needed to draw closer; the angle was just off and all he could discern was the sharp curve of an ear through the curtain of black-brown hair. He kicked his feet and moved a little farther - but the heat of the magma grew too intense. It overwhelmed him, and then he was rising, rising, rising through the black water, the man in the feather shroud flying so far away - 

And then he woke up, heart roaring in his ears.


End file.
